


so calm, so cool (no lover's fool)

by keithlvnce (syballineInferno)



Series: "heat" verse [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Coming Out, Galra Keith (Voltron), Lance has two moms, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Underage Drinking, everyone is mentioned but really its lance and keith, its mutual pining but keith doesnt know that, its returned but theyre dumb an wont say anything yet, keith has a crush on lance, keith’s background, lance’s background, mostly for keith but studies some lance, of terrible illicit space hooch, she/her pronouns for pidge b/c she’s a trans girl, this doesn’t have much of a plot it’s just a pre-relationship study and a collection of scenes, this is nine pages long and idk what it is, written pre-season 2 trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syballineInferno/pseuds/keithlvnce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s how it starts: Lance says “we are a good team,” grinning, and Keith’s heart skips a beat. But he chalks it off to adrenaline and brushes it off, places it away in his head as something to be looked at later, removed and observed like a specimen on a scientist’s lab table.</p><p>Here’s where it is right now: Lance’s hand is on Keith’s knee, his thigh, his shoulder, moving as he does, as they drink illicit alien hooch that Allura had sworn upon from back when - before Zarkon and the death of a civilization - and Shiro is having a night alone (because he needed quiet, sometimes, when everything became too loud, too much, too overwhelming) and Allura and Coran are off (they found a calendar: in Altea it’d be a festival day, but Altea is dead and survived by a princess and her soldier).</p>
            </blockquote>





	so calm, so cool (no lover's fool)

**Author's Note:**

> [strums guitar] i don’t know what this is. also i always see stuff about lance finding keith attractive but keith finding lance attractive is much rarer and. anyway. lyrics are from ‘i don’t know how to love him’ from jesus christ superstar. writing tracklist and link to my blogs are at the end! i worked on this for days i hope you all love it because it dragged me out of writer's block.

_I don’t know how to love him_

_What to do, how to move him._

_I’ve been changed - yes, really changed._

_In these past few days, when I’ve seen myself_

_I seem like someone else._

* * *

 

Here’s how it starts: Lance says “we _are_ a good team,” grinning, and Keith’s heart skips a beat. But he chalks it off to adrenaline and brushes it off, places it away in his head as something to be looked at later, removed and observed like a specimen on a scientist’s lab table.

Here’s where it is right now: Lance’s hand is on Keith’s knee, his thigh, his shoulder, moving as he does, as they drink illicit alien hooch that Allura had sworn upon from back when - before Zarkon and the death of a civilization - and Shiro is having a night alone (because he needed quiet, sometimes, when everything became too loud, too much, too overwhelming) and Allura and Coran are off (they found a calendar: in Altea it’d be a festival day, but Altea is dead and survived by a princess and her soldier).

So Lance, Hunk, Keith, and Pidge are in a circle in the training room, except it’s bastardized itself into some weird trapezoid, Pidge’s limbs all gangly for her short frame, Hunk’s eyes half closed, and Lance is chatting, all babble. Half of it is in Spanish, Lance swinging between languages whenever the impulse hits him, but the words aren’t important.

One of Lance’s hands is gesturing wildly - it’s the one holding his drink, so it’s somewhat precarious, but he’s managed to avoid splashing anyone with the half bitter/half sweet alcohol yet. The other is resting on Keith’s thigh, their shoulders knocked together, a slow progression from the careless inching he’d been doing for the last forty minutes. Keith hasn’t complained.

(how could he, with Lance warm and handsome, cheeks flushed from the two drinks and clad in jeans and a loose tank top, leaving Keith’s stomach a mess and cheeks red?)

Keith is only barely listening, fixating on the collarbones and arms and strip of skin on Lance’s hip when he raises one arm up, on the way his lips curl when he says something he thinks is particularly funny (Pidge groans. Hunk laughs, a large, rumbling laugh that grasps at his whole body. When Lance looks at him expectantly, Keith cracks a smile for him, without thinking, and Lance beams.) or the movement of his throat when he swallows another gulp, or -

“Jesus,” Pidge says, and Keith hadn’t been listening or really looking at Pidge, but he can hear the eye roll. “Feeling narcissistic tonight, Lance?” her tone is teasing, clearly, and they’re all still smiling, but it doesn’t stop Lance from gesturing wildly in mock-offense, splashing the remnants of his drink all over his shirt.

“Aw, shit,” Lance says, peeling off his shirt, wringing it out, and dropping it next to him. The sudden lack of barriers between Lance’s bare body and Keith’s eyes doesn’t deter Lance from his offense. “But anyway! I cannot _believe_ you have the _gall_ to imply I’m being anything but realistic about my appearance, Pigeon.”

“Don’t call me Pigeon,” Pidge says, without missing a beat. “Besides, Keith agrees with me.”

“Keith does?”

“I mean,” Pidge crosses her legs, pauses, and uncrosses them, pulling her knees to her chest instead. “Do you?”

“I, uh,” Keith’s ears burn. “I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation.” His eyes lower, except then Lance’s torso is in his line of sight and - he’s not a _creep_ , okay? - so his eyes snap back up to Lance’s face instead. Pidge (who is too-clever and definitely caught that) seems to hold back a snort.

Hunk remains up for canonization as a saint, as he swoops in to say, “Lance was just saying-”

What Keith- and probably Hunk and Pidge- weren’t expecting was Lance, ever a drama queen, to launch himself into Keith’s arms, limbs languid as he goes, “ _Keith._ You think I’m pretty, right?”

Keith, predictably, doesn’t know how to handle an armful of half naked Lance, face too close and flushed, wrapping around him and batting his eyelashes. His torso is pressed to Lance’s, and if Keith could shrivel up and die right here, right now, he _would._

“Wasn’t the exact quote “a work of art, belonging in the Louvre, and a gift to every being in the universe, barring Zarkon”?” Pidge tilts her head, raised brows and chin on her knees.

“Whatever,” Lance says, and he’s still grinning, all wild and pent up in Keith’s arms. “Keith, don’t you think I’m hot?”

“Uh,” Keith stammers, and he’s positive he’s completely red, and Lance is grinning and the buzz is really starting to hit him. His impulse control is clearly askew, because then he says, “Of course I do, Lance.”

“Ha!” Lance crows victoriously, turning and shifting so he was sitting in Keith’s lap instead, then sinks down so his head was on Keith’s chest. It’s a feat.

Hunk is still laughing, but it’s looser now, more relaxed, and Pidge is smirking, looking at Keith like she knows exactly why he’s so red, why the color hasn’t left his cheeks. Lance wriggles, as if trying to get comfortable, then lays his head in Keith’s lap instead.

He grins up at Keith like they’re sharing an inside joke. Keith’s stomach erupts in pterodactyls, and he chugs the rest of his drink.

* * *

 

Lance is dancing.

This isn’t something new or anything. Lance is always moving, always shifting, and when he’s alone or comfortable or _really freakin’ stressed, let me live Pidge,_ he dances. He doesn’t require music, although it is preferred, whether it’s old Altean records or Hunk providing makeshift drums using pans and a wooden spoon, and he never sticks to one style. He can go from hip shaking, dancing and bouncing and the occasional cartwheel to grabbing the nearest person and swinging them into a makeshift waltz or tango, dipping and twirling them (well - he tried dipping. He dropped both Shiro and Hunk, and Allura decided to dip him, instead.)

Occasionally, he’d dabbled in dirty dancing, although it’s overdramatic and played for laughs: for Pidge’s cackles and Hunk’s fake swoons, Shiro (trying so hard to keep a straight face) attempting a chastise but laughing instead when Lance decided to “drop it low” (no one has told Keith what that’s supposed to mean, beyond the visual example he was provided with that nearly stopped his heart, and he isn’t sure how to ask), and Lance’s vehement insistence to Coran and Allura that grinding was a formal dance on Earth. (Shiro shaking his head in the background had given him away.)

So, Lance dancing, really, was nothing new. And yes, Lance’s dancing still gave him heart palpitations, but at least it’d always been near a group, so there was always someone else to distract Lance from Keith’s redness and sudden stutter.

They’re alone now, although Lance doesn’t quite know it yet, as he dances around the training room after everyone else has gone to bed. He’s singing, too, something in Spanish, all soft and smooth. It’s quieter than normal, too.

(Keith has this theory: at least fifty percent of Lance’s loudness is performative, is “look at me”, is- people pleasing. Lance is a people pleaser. But that’s just Keith’s theory.)

Keith is leaning against the doorway, still half asleep, but he’s smiling, that sort of uncontrollable fondness he has for Lance showing off on his face and leaving him all warm and soft. [He went to sleep, for a little while, and even managed three hours in a row before waking up to clutch at his knife. It’s an improvement.]

Lance finally opens his eyes, and stops completely. “K-Keith! How long have you been-”

“Just a minute,” Keith says, which isn’t wholly true but will probably make Lance feel better. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep after I woke up. I was going to train, but you can keep- you can have the training room. I’ll go somewhere else.”

“No!” Lance says, shakes his head. His cheeks are pink and Keith focuses on it. “No, seriously, you could have it-”

“I’m not gonna kick you out, it’s big enough for both of us-”

“I don’t want to be in your way-”

“You won’t be, seriously, I don’t even need to train, I just want to be- preoccupied,” Keith frowns, sliding down to sit in the doorway, back against the frame. “You can stay.”

Lance frowns, but moves to sit in the doorway with him, back against the other side of the doorframe. “Do you.. do you want to talk?”

“Not really,” he said. “Uh, I can listen? What were you singing?”

Lance flushed a little. “I don’t really know the name? My mom plays - played it a lot, and it was my mom’s wedding song, so I just picked up the lyrics eventually.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Only your mom’s? What about your dad? Don’t they usually have the same song, or?”

“I don’t have a dad,” he said. “I have two moms, though, and that was their wedding song.”

“Oh,” Keith says, then flushes. It occurs to him, quietly, that Lance must be fine with people like- like Keith. _“Oh.”_

Lance must see- see something in Keith’s face, although Keith doesn’t know what he looks like, because his hackles raise, and he frowns. “Do you have a problem with that?” he snaps, all harsh.

“No!” Keith shakes his head and maybe it’s too fast, because Lance looks like he doesn’t believe him. “No, seriously, I don’t have any problem with your lesbian moms, I swear.”

“Only one of them is a lesbian,” Lance says. “The other’s bisexual.”

“Right, sorry,” Keith says, running one hand through his hair reflexively.

“Besides, you made this _face,”_ Lance tries to morph his face into a mimicry of the expression Keith must’ve had.

“It’s not like that,” Keith says. “I just.. a lot of the foster homes I were in, they,” Keith swallows hard, frowns, gestures. Keith licks his lips and says. “I was in a lot of very.. I don’t know, Evangelical homes? Or, you know, the nice suburban homes with perfect families- although I was usually only those for a few weeks. Growing up in the foster system, that is,” Keith feels all hot and cold at once, nervous and bare and open and- comfortable. Lance pulls his knees to his chest and tilts his head and just listens and he makes Keith feel comfortable.

(It took three months for him to give Shiro more than scraps about his history, but it’s late at night and-)

“Uh, anyway, most of the places I was in, there were almost no gay couples, or even other gay kids? Like, I guess I heard about some of them, like the girl that next town over who got sent to one of those, uh, I think they called them Biblical Correction Camps or whatever. I always called them straight camps,” it registers to Keith only after that he says ‘other gay kids’ but Lance’s face just shifts to an ‘oh’ expression, and Keith’s face burns red. “So, it’s always kind of.. I dunno, strange? To hear about other gay people. Especially ones that grew up and were still gay and, uh. Happy. And alive.”

“Oh,” Lance said, and Keith is hot, he’s too hot, he’s burning, he’s- it’s the first time he’s really said it out loud. He’s talked about it with Shiro but only vaguely but he’s never said- he’s never- he’s never-

“I’m gay,” Keith says, swallows. “Uh, I mean, that’s probably obvious by now, but I never really. Said it out loud.”

“Keith,” Lance says, leans over and grabs his hand and squeezes it. “It’s fine. You’re fine! You’re better than fine, you’re great! No one here’s gonna gonna judge you or anything. I mean, Pidge’s trans and pansexual, Coran was just telling me about how ‘love on Altea knew no gender, race, or even species’,” his voice shifts to an impersonation of Coran, and he uses a finger from his other hand as a makeshift moustache, and Keith smiles kind of nervously back, too anxious to laugh. “Hunk- I dunno what Hunk identifies as, but he also is one of the most supportive people I’ve ever met, same for Shiro, and I’m bisexual, so I think you’re fine. I won’t tell the others, though.”

Keith is a little stuck on the ‘I’m bisexual’ part, and it makes all his fantasies play very quickly in his mind.

When he snaps out of it, Lance is looking at him worriedly. “Keith? Keeeeith? You alright, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Alright! Time for a subject change,” Lance says firmly.

A thought pops into Keith’s head, and after a second of deliberation, he decides he can’t embarrass himself anymore tonight. “Will you sing some more for me?”

“Huh?” Lance tilts his head, and in the light it almost looks like he’s blushing again. “You want me to sing?”

“You have a nice voice,” Keith says, and he’s so embarrassed, he’s dying, he’s bright red. “I like listening to you sing… and dance. You, uh, dance well.”

“You could dance with me,” Lance offers, in a tone almost approaching shy.

“I never learned how to,” Keith says. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy!” Lance grins at him, squeezes the hand Keith’s still holding and stands up, pulls Keith too him as he steps out of the doorway. He grabs Keith’s other hand in his, and suddenly Keith is flush against his chest. Lance has a good four inches on him, and Keith leans into his chest with ease.

Lance pulls him into something slow and easy, but not dull, singing lightly in Spanish and grinning, all laughter, and Keith smiles back.

* * *

 

Keith’s hand is purple.

Or really, the palm of it is: it hasn’t spread to the fingers yet, but he’s scared of what will happen when it does.

(He’s been turning purple for weeks now, and at first he thought of bruises, but he’d pressed his fingers into them and they didn’t hurt. Then he thought about his mother, in the few memories he has before she was.. gone (dead, probably, but all they told five year old Keith was ‘your mommy is gone now’ and nothing else) and how she always looked at the stars when she was sad or tired or lonely, or when her little boy asked about his father. She told him he was in space, although there wasn’t anyone with any piloting program in space at the time.)

(At thirteen, Keith had thought about this, laying in another pristine white bed in another pristine white home, lonely with his hand over his heart and looking out the window at the stars, and decided that it was an allegory for heaven, and left it at that. There was no need to mourn for someone he never knew.)

(At nineteen, Keith turns purple and isn’t so sure.)

The purple seems to show up in random places: bursts of color on his chest and torso and hips, under his hair at the back of his neck, the palm of his left hand and bottom of his feet. In certain light, his eyes start to glint purple and yellow and he keeps waking up expecting ears to pop out of the top of his head.

Unless he’s got some weird alien disease, then he’s finally going to have to sit and think about the father he always figured was irrelevant.

[He is- he’s scared, he can admit that to himself. The Galra wiped out Altea, they kept Shiro captive for a year, they’re-they’re evil. And Keith- if Keith is part Galra, is he evil? Is he only part evil, is his evilness directly proportionate to how much Galra he is? And what about the day he can’t hide it, when he has to leave his room with his shame and- and filthy blood apparent all over his face and hands and skin and eyes? What’s going to happen then?]

Keith thinks of Shiro first, because of course he does. For most of the last six years, Shiro’s been at least peripheral on Keith’s mind, and although it’s gotten a little less common as more people get added to the list of people Keith cares about, he’s still one of the most important people in Keith’s life. For years he was the only person in Keith’s life.

(There’s a story there, of course, about some skinny malnourished not-quite-child stealing food because he tried to kiss another boy and the boy told his parents who told the not-quite-child’s foster parents of the month, who thought they could starve the gay out of him but didn’t put the best locks on the windows, and of a not-quite-soldier who caught him and invited him in instead, because he knew desperation when he saw it. And then again, when the not-quite-child had become a teenage runaway, two years later, and the-not-quite soldier was almost-a-pilot, and then again six months later with the next foster parents and the runaway (a lonely angry teenager) and again-)

(There is a story about how Shiro saw Keith at his worst over and over again and saw something enough in him, and a story about how whenever Keith was asked about any family he had while at the Garrison, he describes Shiro. This isn’t that story.)

He thinks of Lance next, Lance and his passion and fire, and he thinks about the day Keith turns purple, the day he can’t hide it anymore. He thinks, more so, about the laughing smiles and the teasing almost-flirting he does with Keith, the hint of maybe-something, about the easy friendship they’ve struck up, where Lance talks to Keith about whatever when Keith wakes up and Keith talks about whatever when Lance is homesick and upset with his heart in his throat. Or about adventuring foreign planets in pairs, or drinking shitty alien hooch with Lance and Pidge and Hunk in the training room, or of Lance grabbing his hands and teaching him how to dance, or Lance’s hands on Keith’s shoulder/thigh/knee.

He thinks about Lance being disgusted with him, he thinks about anger and distrust, the sort of hatred he’d been scared of when he’d came out, but 100 times worse. He imagines, laying in bed in a cold sweat, Lance refusing to touch him at first, the smiles and maybe-flirting disappearing. Stilted conversations, then exclusion from the group and then-

In his head, it all culminates in being forced out of Voltron. In Lance too disgusted to look at him and Shiro panicking when he sees him, Pidge glaring and Allura and Coran looking at him in barely disguised anger, Hunk not angry, not quite, but. But. (The Galra are evil, and Keith is Galra, so Keith is evil. It’s basic math.)

(In Keith’s head, it won’t matter that he didn’t know, didn’t choose this. He is Galra and therefore he is evil. All wrapped up in a pretty package.)

(And what is Keith if he isn’t part of Voltron, isn’t- he thinks he’s their friend, that Shiro’s been the older brother he always needed. He is Keith, former pilot in training, drop out, orphan (maybe, now), pilot of Voltron, pilot of the Red Lion, human (or was), Shiro’s adopted sibling (unofficially), part of something. Who is he when that’s all gone? Hybrid mess, alone, not quite human and not quite anything else, drop out, possible-orphan, alone in the universe.)

He’s scared. He doesn’t want his team to hate him.

There are three knocks on the door, and Keith nearly jumps out of his skin. His fingers fiddle with the straps of his fingerless glove, letting out a “yeah, come in!” as he does.

He sees Lance in the mirror’s reflection, illuminated by the hallway’s light. It looks like something out of a movie: Keith bent over a sink in the dark, staring at a reflection with his hair hanging around his face, Lance in the doorway, bright light spilling in around him, all gold. It’s a pretty contrast, and if Keith were a poet or something, he’d scribble verses down about the way the light hits Lance’s irises or collarbones.

Keith isn’t a poet, and he turns, purple palmed and gloved hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Feeling vain, Keith?” Lance laughs, and Keith’s stomach erupts in angry butterflies, and yet his cheeks still burn.

“W-what?” Keith stumbles.

“I mean, you were hunched over the mirror when I came in, and I get that you’re pretty and all, but that’s a little excessive,” Lance grins and Keith feels all warm and pleased inside.

“Like you don’t spend all your time obsessing over your appearance,” Keith shoots back, returning the grin. “Don’t you do like, night masks or whatever?”

“You’re damn right I do,” Lance says, all pleased with himself. “Gotta exfoliate and wear masks to keep my skin glowing naturally, after all.”

“Uh huh,” Keith rolls his eyes. “What do you need?”

“We’re all hanging out right now and you weren’t there,” Lance shrugs. “We missed you. We’re gonna get Shiro to get alien-wasted for the first time and also maybe Allura. You wanna come?”

This is what he’s always wanted, and here Lance is, offering it to him like it’s nothing. Keith is- warm. He’s warm and happy and pleased, and he grins.

“Yeah, alright,” Keith says as the two of them head out of Keith’s room. “But mostly because I don’t trust you guys not to act up if Shiro is incapacitated.”

“Like you’re so much better there,” Lance says, swinging his arm over Keith’s shoulders.

“Of course I am,” Keith says, leaning into Lance’s side and letting thoughts of purple hands escape his mind.

Keith is, he realizes, happy. It’s been a more common feeling lately, after all.

* * *

 

_Don’t you think it’s rather funny_

_I should be in this position?_

_I’m the one who’s always been_

_So calm, so cool, no lover’s fool_

_Running every show_

_He scares me so._

**Author's Note:**

> i’m still on tumblr [@slytherinlance](http://slytherinlance.tumblr.com/) for my voltron blog, [@sevnoire](http://sevnoire.tumblr.com) for my writing blog, and [@motherdolorosa](http://motherdolorosa.tumblr.com) for my main. i do writing requests on slytherinlance and sevnoire.
> 
> writing track list: i don’t know how to love him (jesus christ superstar), i miss the mountains (next to normal), up the wolves (the mountain goats), samson (regina spektor), iscariot (walk the moon), treat you better (shawn mendes), nearly witches (panic! at the disco), mr. pitiful (matt costa), what a catch, donnie (fall out boy), island of the misfit boy (front porch step), call your girlfriend (robyn, then emma stone & maya rudolph), laura (bats for lashes), howl, what the water gave me, never let me go (all florence + the machine), video games, diet mountain dew, carmen, radio (lana del rey), obsessions (marina and the diamonds)


End file.
